S  E 


Bride  Roses 

A           SCENE 

By  W.  D.  Howells 
\\ 

I 

BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 

Houyhton,  Mifflin  and 
Company     M  D  c  c  c  c 

COPYRIGHT,  1893,  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

COPYRIGHT,  1900,  BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Bride  Eoses 

SCENE 

A  Lady,  entering  the  florist's  with 
her  muff  to  her  face,  and  fluttering 
gayly  up  to  the  counter,  where  the  flor 
ist  stands  folding  a  mass  of  loose  flowers 
in  a  roll  of  cotton  batting :  "  Good-morn 
ing,  Mr.  Eichenlaub !  Ah,  put  plenty 
of  cotton  round  the  poor  things,  if  you 
don't  want  them  frozen  stiff !  You  have 
no  idea  what  a  day  it  is,  here  in  your 
little  tropic."  She  takes  away  her  muff 
as  she  speaks,  but  gives  each  of  her 
cheeks  a  final  pressure  with  it,  and  holds 
it  up  with  one  hand  inside  as  she  sinks 
upon  the  stool  before  the  counter. 

The  Florist:  "Dropic?  With  ice- 
[3] 


M295965 


Bride  Roses 


pergs  on  the  wintows  ?  "  He  nods  his 
head  toward  the  frosty  panes,  and  wraps 
a  sheet  of  tissue-paper  around  the  cotton 
and  the  flowers. 

The  Lady:  "But  you  are  not  near 
the  windows.  Back  here  it  is  midsum 
mer!" 

The  Florist:  "Yes,  we  got  a  rhe- 
vricherator  to  keep  the  rhoces  from  sun 
stroke."  He  crimps  the  paper  at  the 
top,  and  twists  it  at  the  bottom  of  the 
bundle  in  his  hand.  "Hier!  "  he  calls 
to  a  young  man  warming  his  hands  at 
the  stove.  "  Chon,  but  on  your  hat,  and 
dtake  this  to  —  Holt  on !  I  forgot  to 
but  in  the  cart."  He  undoes  the  paper, 
and  puts  in  a  card  lying  on  the  counter 
before  him ;  the  lady  watches  him 
vaguely.  "  There ! "  He  restores  the 

[4] 


Bride  Roses 


wrapping  and  hands  the  package  to  the 
young  man,  who  goes  out  with  it.  "  Well, 
matam?" 

The  Lady,  laying  her  muff  with  her 
hand  in  it  on  the  counter,  and  leaning 
forward  over  it :  "  Well,  Mr.  Eichenlaub. 
I  am  going  to  be  very  difficult." 

Tfie  Florist :  "  That  is  what  I  lige. 
Then  I  don't  feel  so  rhesbonsible." 

TJie  Lady :  "  But  to-day,  I  wish  you 
to  feel  responsible.  I  want  you  to  take 
the  whole  responsibility.  Do  you  know 
why  I  always  come  to  you,  instead  of 
those  places  on  Fifth  Avenue  ?  " 

The  Florist :  "  Well,  it  is  a  good  teal 
cheaper,  for  one  thing"  — 

The  Lady :  "  Not  at  all !  That  is  n't 
the  reason,  at  all.  Some  of  your  things 
are  dearer.  It's  because  you  take  so 

[5] 


Bride  Roses 


much  more  interest,  and  you  talk  over 
what  I  want,  and  you  don't  urge  me, 
when  I  have  n't  made  up  my  mind.  You 
let  me  consult  you,  and  you  are  not  cross 
when  I  don't  take  your  advice." 

The  Florist:  "You  are  very  goodt, 
matam." 

The  Lady :  "  Not  at  all.  I  am  simply 
just.  And  now  I  want  you  to  provide 
the  flowers  for  my  first  Saturday :  Sat 
urday  of  this  week,  in  fact,  and  I  want 
to  talk  the  order  all  over  with  you.  Are 
you  very  busy  ?  " 

The  Florist:  "No;  I  am  qvite  at 
your  service.  We  haf  just  had  to  egse- 
gute  a  larche  gommission  very  soddenly, 
and  we  are  still  in  a  little  dtisorter  yet ; 
but"  — 

The  Lady :  "  Yes,  I  see."   She  glances 

[6] 


Bride   Roses 


at  the  rear  of  the  shop,  where  the  floor 
is  littered  with  the  leaves  and  petals  of 
flowers,  and  sprays  of  fern  and  evergreen. 
A  woman,  followed  by  a  belated  smell  of 
breakfast,  which  gradually  mingles  with 
the  odor  of  the  plants,  comes  out  of  a 
door  there,  and  begins  to  gather  the  lar 
ger  fragments  into  her  apron.  The  lady 
turns  again,  and  looks  at  the  jars  and 
vases  of  cut  flowers  in  the  window,  and 
on  the  counter.  "  What  I  can't  under 
stand  is  how  you  know  just  the  quantity 
of  flowers  to  buy  every  day.  You  must 
often  lose  a  good  deal." 

TJie  Florist:  "It  gomes  out  about 
rhighdt,  nearly  always.  When  I  get 
left,  sometimes,  I  can  chenerally  work 
dem  off  on  funerals.  Now,  that  bic  orter 
hat  I  just  fill,  that  wass  a  funeral.  It 

[7] 


Bride  Roses 


usedt  up  all  the  flowers  I  hat  ofer  from 
yesterday." 

The  Lady :  "  Don't  speak  of  it !  And 
the  flowers,  are  they  just  the  same  for 
funerals?" 

The  Florist :  "  Yes,  rhoces  nearly  al 
ways.  Whidte  ones." 

The  Lady :  "  Well,  it  is  too  dreadful. 
I  am  not  going  to  have  roses,  whatever 
I  have."  After  a  thoughtful  pause,  and 
a  more  careful  look  around  the  shop : 
"  Mr.  Eichenlaub,  why  would  n't  orchids 
do?" 

The  Florist :  "  Well,  they  would  be 
bretty  dtear.  You  could  n't  make  any 
show  at  all  for  less  than  fifteen  tol- 
lars." 

The  Lady,  with  a  slight  sigh  :  "  No, 
orchids  would  n't  do.  They  are  fantastic 

[8] 


Bride  Roses 


things,  anyway,  and  they  are  not  very 
effective,  as  you  say.  Pinks,  anemones, 
marguerites,  narcissus  —  there  doesn't 
seem  to  be  any  great  variety,  does 
there?" 

The  Florist,  patiently :  "  There  will 
be  more,  lader  on." 

The  Lady :  "  Yes,  there  will  be  more 
sun,  later  on.  But  now,  Mr.  Eichen- 
laub,  what  do  you  think  of  plants  in 
pots,  set  around  ?  " 

The  Florist :  "  Balmss  ?  " 
TJie  Lady,  vaguely :  "  Yes,  palms." 
The    Florist:    "Balmss   would    to. 
But   there   would    not   be   very   much 
golor." 

The  Lady:  "That  is  true;  there 
would  be  no  color  at  all,  and  my  rooms 
certainly  need  all  the  color  I  can  get 

[9] 


Bride  Roses 


into  them.  Yes,  I  shall  have  to  have 
roses,  after  all.  But  not  white  ones !  " 

The  Florist :  "  Chacks  ?  " 

The  Lady :  "  No ;  Jacks  are  too  old- 
fashioned.  But  haven't  you  got  any 
other  very  dark  rose?  I  should  like 
something  almost  black,  I  believe." 

The  Florist,  setting  a  vase  of  roses 
on  the  counter  before  her:  "There  is 
the  Matame  Hoste." 

The  Lady,  bending  over  the  roses, 
and  touching  one  of  them  with  the  tip 
of  her  gloved  finger :  "  Why,  they  are 
black,  almost !  They  are  nearly  as  black 
as  black  pansies.  They  are  really  won 
derful  !  "  She  stoops  over  and  inhales 
their  fragrance.  "  Delicious  !  They  are 
beautiful,  but "  —  abruptly  —  "  they  are 
hideous.  Their  color  makes  me  creep. 
[10] 


Bride  Roses 


It  is  so  unnatural  for  a  rose.  A  rose  — 
a  rose  ought  to  be  —  rose-colored !  Have 
you  no  rose-colored  roses?  What  are 
those  light  pink  ones  there  in  the  win 
dow?" 

The  Florist^  going  to  the  window 
and  getting  two  vases  of  cut  roses,  with 
long  stems,  both  pink,  but  one  kind  a 
little  larger  than  the  other:  "That  is 
the  Matame  Watterville,  and  this  is 
the  Matame  Cousine.  They  are  sister 
rhoces ;  both  the  same,  but  the  Matame 
Watterville  is  a  little  bigger,  and  it  is 
a  little  dtearer." 

The  Lady:  "They  are  both  exqui 
site,  and  they  are  such  a  tender  almond- 
bloom  pink !  I  think  the  Madame  Cou 
sine  is  quite  as  nice ;  but  of  course  the 
larger  ones  are  more  effective."  She 

[11] 


Bride  Roses 


examines  them,  turning  her  head  from 
side  to  side,  and  then  withdrawing  a 
step,  with  a  decisive  sigh.  "  No ;  they 
are  too  pale.  Have  you  nothing  of  a 
brighter  pink?  What  is  that  over 
there  ?  "  She  points  to  a  vase  of  roses 
quite  at  the  front  of  the  window,  and 
the  florist  climbs  over  the  mass  of  plants 
and  gets  it  for  her. 

The  Florist :  "  That  is  the  Midio." 
The  Lady :  "  The  what  ?  " 
The  Florist:  "  The  Midio." 
The  Lady :  "  You  will  think  I  am 
very  stupid  this  morning.     Won't  you 
please  write  it  down   for  me?"     The 
florist  writes  on  a  sheet  of  wrapping- 
paper,  and  she  leans  over  and  reads : 
"Oh!    Meteor!    Well,  it  is  very  strik 
ing —  a  little  too  striking.     I  don't  like 
[12] 


Bride  Roses 


such  a  vivid  pink,  and  I  don't  like  the 
name.  Horrid  to  give  such  a  name  to 
a  flower."  She  puts  both  hands  into 
her  muff,  and  drifts  a  little  way  off,  as 
if  to  get  him  in  a  better  perspective. 
"  Can't  you  suggest  something,  Mr. 
Eichenlaub?" 

The  Florist :  "  Some  kind  off  yellow 
rhoce  ?  Dtea-rhoces  ?  " 

The  Lady,  shaking  her  head :  "  Tea- 
roses  are  ghastly.  I  hate  yellow  roses. 
I  would  rather  have  black,  and  black  is 
simply  impossible.  I  shall  have  to  tell 
you  just  what  I  want  to  do.  I  don't 
want  to  work  up  to  my  rooms  with  the 
flowers  ;  I  want  to  work  up  to  the  young 
lady  who  is  going  to  pour  tea  for  me. 
I  don't  care  if  there  is  n't  a  flower  any 
where  but  on  the  table  before  her.  I 
[13] 


Bride  Roses 


want  a  color  scheme  that  shall  not  have 
a  false  note  in  it,  from  her  face  to  the 
tiniest  bud.  I  want  them  to  all  come 
together.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

The  Florist,  doubtfully:  "Yes." 
After  a  moment:  "What  kindt  looking 
yo'ng  laty  iss  she?  " 

The  Lady  :  "  The  most  ethereal  crea 
ture  in  the  world." 

The  Florist :  "  Yes ;  but  what  sdyle 
—  fairortark?" 

The  Lady  :  "  Oh,  fair !  Very,  very 
fair,  and  very,  very  fragile-looking;  a 
sort  of  moonlight  blonde,  with  those 
remote,  starry-looking  eyes,  don't  you 
know,  and  that  pale  saffron  hair;  not 
the  least  ashen ;  and  just  the  faintest, 
faintest  tinge  of  color  in  her  face.  I 
suppose  you  have  nothing  like  the  old- 
[14] 


Bride  Roses 


fashioned  blush-rose?     That  would   be 
the  very  thing." 

TJie  Florist,  shaking  his  head :  "  Oh, 
no ;  there  noding  like  that  in  a  chreen- 
house  rhoce." 

The  Lady:  "Well,  that  is  exactly 
what  I  want.  It  ought  to  be  something 
very  tall  and  ethereal ;  something  very, 
very  pale,  and  yet  with  a  sort  of  suf 
fusion  of  color."  She  walks  up  and 
down  the  shop,  looking  at  all  the  plants 
and  flowers. 

The  Florist,  waiting  patiently : 
"  Somet'ing  beside  rhoces,  then  ?  " 

The  Lady,  coming  back  to  him : 
"No  ;  it  must  be  roses,  after  all.  I  see 
that  nothing  else  will  do.  What  do 
you  call  those  ?  "  She  nods  at  a  vase 
of  roses  on  a  shelf  behind  him. 
[15] 


Bride  Roses 


The  Florist,  turning  and  taking  them 
down  for  her :  "  Ah,  those  whidte  ones ! 
That  is  the  Pridte.  You  sait  you 
woult  n't  haf  whidte  ones." 

The  Lady :  "  I  may  have  to  come  to 
them.  Why  do  they  caU  it  the  Pride  ?  " 

The  Florist:  "I  didn't  say  Bridte; 
I  said  Pridte." 

The  Lady :  "  Oh,  Bride !  And  do 
they  use  Bride  roses  for  "  — 

The  Florist:  "Yes;  and  for  wed- 
dtings,  too  ;  for  everything."  The  lady 
leans  back  a  little  and  surveys  the  flow 
ers  critically.  A  young  man  enters, 
and  approaches  the  florist,  but  waits 
with  respectful  impatience  for  the  lady 
to  transact  her  affairs.  The  florist  turns 
to  him  inquiringly,  and  upon  this  hint 
he  speaks. 

[16] 


Bride  Roses 


The  Young  Man:  "I  want  you  to 
send  a  few  roses  —  white  ones,  or  nearly 
white  "  —  He  looks  at  the  lady.  "  Per 
haps  "  - 

The  Lady:  "Oh,  not  at  all!  I 
had  n't  decided  to  take  them." 

Ttie  Florist :  "  I  got  plenty  this  kindt ; 
all  you  want.  I  can  always  get  them." 

The  Young  Man,  dreamily  regard 
ing  the  roses  :  "  They  look  rather  chilly." 
He  goes  to  the  stove,  and  drawing  off 
his  gloves,  warms  his  hands,  and  then 
comes  back.  "  What  do  you  call  this 
rose?" 

The  Florist :  "  The  Pridte." 

The  Young  Man,  uncertainly :  "  Oh ! " 
The  lady  moves  a  little  way  up  the  coun 
ter  toward  the  window,  but  keeps  look 
ing  at  the  young  man  from  time  to 
[17] 


Bride  Roses 


time.  She  cannot  help  hearing  all  that 
he  says.  "  Have  n't  you  any  white  rose 
with  a  little  color  in  it  ?  Just  the  faint 
est  tinge,  the  merest  touch." 

The.  Florist:  "No,  no;  they  are 
whidte,  or  they  are  yellow ;  dtea-rhoces ; 
Marshal  Niel "  — 

The  Young  Man :  "  Ah,  I  don't  want 
anything  of  that  kind.  What  is  the 
palest  pink  rose  you  have  ?  " 

The  Florist,  indicating  the  different 
kinds  in  the  vases,  where  the  lady  has 
been  looking  at  them :  "  Well,  there  is 
nothing  lighder  than  the  Matame  Cou- 
sine,  or  the  Matame  Watterville,  here  ; 
they  are  sister  rhoces  "  — 

The  Young  Man  :  "  Yes,  yes  ;  very 
beautiful ;  but  too  dark."     He  stops  be 
fore    the   Madame    Hoste:    "What   a 
[18] 


Bride  Roses 


strange  flower!  It  is  almost  black! 
What  is  it  for  ?  Funerals  ?  " 

The  Florist :  "  No ;  a  good  many  peo 
ple  lige  them.  We  don't  sell  them  much 
for  funerals  ;  they  are  too  cloomy.  They 
uce  whidte  ones  for  that :  Marshal  Niel, 
dtea-rhoces,  this  Pridte  here,  and  other 
whidte  ones." 

The  Young  Man,  with  an  accent  of 
repulsion  :  "  Oh !  "  He  goes  toward  the 
window,  and  looks  at  a  mass  of  Easter 
lilies  in  a  vase  there.  He  speaks  as  if 
thinking  aloud:  "If  they  had  a  little 
color —  But  they  would  be  dreadful 
with  color !  Why,  you  ought  to  have 
something  I  "  He  continues  musingly, 
as  he  returns  to  the  florist :  "  Have  n't 
you  got  something  very  delicate,  and 
slender,  about  the  color  of  pale  apple 
[19] 


Bride  Roses 


blossoms?  If  you  had  them  light 
enough,  some  kind  of  azaleas"  — 

The  Lady,  involuntarily :  "  Ah  I  " 

The  Florist,  after  a  moment,  in 
which  he  and  the  young  man  both  glance 
at  the  lady,  and  she  makes  a  sound  in 
her  throat  to  show  that  she  is  not  think 
ing  of  them,  and  had  not  spoken  in  re 
ference  to  what  they  were  saying :  "  The 
only  azaleas  I  haf  are  these  pink  ones, 
and  those  whidte  ones." 

The  Young  Man :  "  And  they  are 
too  pink  and  too  white.  Isn't  there 
anything  tall,  and  very  delicate  ?  Some 
thing,  well  —  something  like  the  old- 
fashioned  blush-rose?  But  with  very 
long  stems ! " 

The  florist:  "No,  there  is  noding 
lige  that  which  gomes  in  a  crheenhouse 
[20] 


Bride  Roses 


rhoce.  We  got  a  whidte  rhoce  here  " 
—  he  goes  to  his  refrigerator,  and  brings 
back  a  long  box  of  roses  — "  that  I 
did  n't  think  of  before."  He  gives  the 
lady  an  apologetic  glance.  "You  see 
there  is  chost  the  least  sdain  of  rhet  on 
the  etch  of  the  leafs." 

The  Young  Man,  examining  the 
petals  of  the  roses :  "  Ah,  that  is  very 
curious.  It  is  a  caprice,  though." 

The  Flmst :  "  Yes,  it  is  a  kind  of 
sbordt.  That  rhoce  should  be  berfectly 
whidte." 

The  Young  Man :  "  On  the  whole,  I 
don't  think  it  will  do.  I  will  take  some 
of  those  pure  white  ones.  Bride,  did 
you  call  them  ?  " 

The  Florist:  "Yes,  Pridte.  How 
many?" 

[21] 


Bride  Roses 


The  Young  Man :  "  Oh,  a  dozen  — 
two  dozen ;  I  don't  know !  I  want  very 
long,  slender  stems,  and  the  flowers  with 
loose  open  petals ;  none  of  those  stout, 
tough-looking  little  buds.  Here !  This, 
and  this,  and  all  these ;  no,  I  don't  want 
any  of  those  at  all."  He  selects  the  dif 
ferent  stems  of  roses,  and  while  the  flor 
ist  gets  a  box,  and  prepares  it  with  a 
lining  of  cotton  and  tissue-paper,  he 
leans  over  and  writes  on  a  card.  He 
pauses  and  puts  up  his  pencil ;  then  he 
takes  it  out  again  and  covers  the  card 
with  writing.  He  gives  it  to  the  florist. 
"  I  wish  that  to  go  into  the  box  where 
it  will  be  found  the  first  thing."  He 
turns  away,  and  encounters  the  lady's 
eyes  as  she  chances  to  look  toward  him. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon !  But  "  — 
[22] 


Bride  Roses 


Tlie  Lady,  smiling,  and  extending 
her  hand :  "  I  felt  almost  sure  it  was 
you  !  But  I  could  n't  believe  my  senses. 
All  the  other  authorities  report  you  in 
Rome." 

The  Young  Man :  "  I  returned  rather 
suddenly.  I  just  got  in  this  morning. 
Our  steamer  was  due  yesterday,  but 
there  was  so  much  ice  in  the  harbor 
that  we  did  n't  work  up  till  a  few  hours 
ago." 

The  Lady  :  "  You  will  take  all  your 
friends  by  surprise." 

T/ie  Young  Man  :  "  I  'ni  a  good  deal 
taken  by  surprise  myself.  Two  weeks 
ago  I  did  n't  dream  of  being  here.  But 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  conie,  and  —  I 
came." 

The  Lady,  laughing :  "  Evidently  ! 
[23] 


Bride  Roses 


Well,  now  you  must  come  to  my  Satur 
days  ;  you  are  just  in  time  for  the  first 
one.  Some  one  you  know  is  going  to 
pour  tea  for  me.  That  ought  to  be  some 
consolation  to  you  for  not  having  stayed 
away  long  enough  to  escape  my  hospi 
talities." 

The  Young  Man,  blushing  and  smil 
ing  :  "  Oh,  it 's  a  very  charming  wel 
come  home.  I  shall  be  sure  to  come. 
She  is  —  everybody  is  —  well,  I  hope  ?  " 

The  Lady :  "  Yes,  or  everybody  was 
on  Monday  when  I  saw  them.  Every 
body  is  looking  very  beautiful  this  win 
ter,  lovelier  than  ever,  if  possible.  But 
so  spiritual !  Too  spiritual !  But  that 
spirit  of  hers  will  carry  her  —  I  mean 
everybody,  of  course  !  —  through  every- 
[24] 


Bride  Roses 


thing.  I  feel  almost  wicked  to  have 
asked  her  to  pour  tea  for  me,  when  I 
think  of  how  much  else  she  is  doing! 
Do  you  know,  I  was  just  ordering  the 
flowers  for  my  Saturday,  and  I  had 
decided  to  take  her  for  my  key-note  in 
the  decorations.  But  that  made  it  so 
difficult !  There  does  n't  seem  anything 
delicate  and  pure  and  sweet  enough  for 
her.  There  ought  to  be  some  flower 
created  just  to  express  her  !  But  as  yet 
there  isn't." 

The  Young  Man  :  "  No,  no ;  there 
isn't.  But  now  I  must  run  away.  I 
have  n't  been  to  my  hotel  yet ;  I  was 
just  driving  up  from  the  ship,  and  I 
saw  the  flowers  in  the  window,  and  — 
stopped.  Good-by ! " 
[25] 


Bride  Roses 


The  Lady :  "  Good-by  !  What  devo 
tion  to  somebody  —  everybody  !  Don't 
forget  my  Saturday  !  " 

The  Young  Man  :  "  No,  no  ;  I  won't. 
Good  -  by  ! "  He  hurries  out  of  the 
door,  and  his  carriage  is  heard  driving 
away. 

The  Florist :  "  I  wondter  if  he  but 
the  attress  on  the  cart  ?  No  ;  there  is 
noding  !  "  He  turns  the  card  helplessly 
over.  "  What  am  I  coing  to  do  about 
these  flowers  ?  " 

The  Lady :  "  Why,  did  n't  he  say 
where  to  send  them  ?  " 

The  Florist :  "  No,  he  rhon  away 
and  dtid  n't  leaf  the  attress." 

The  Lady :  "  That  was  my  fault !     I 
confused  him,  poor  fellow,  by  talking  to 
him.     What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 
[26] 


Bride  Roses 


The  Florist :  "  That  is  what  I  lige  to 
know!  Do  you  know  what  hotel  he 
stobsat?" 

The  Lady :  "  No ;  he  did  n't  say.  I 
have  no  idea  where  he  is  going.  But 
wait  a  moment !  I  think  I  know  where 
he  meant  to  send  the  flowers." 

The  Florist :  "  Oh,  well ;  that  is  all 
I  want  to  know." 

The  Lady :  "  Yes,  but  I  am  not  cer 
tain."  After  a  moment's  thought.  "  I 
know  he  wants  them  to  go  at  once ;  a 
great  deal  may  depend  upon  it  —  every 
thing."  Suddenly  :  "  Could  you  let  me 
see  that  card?" 

The  Florist,  throwing  it  on  the 
counter  before  her  :  "  Why,  soddonly  ; 
if  he  is  a  frhiendt  of  yours  "  — 

The  Lady,  shrinking  back  :  "  Ah,  it 
[27] 


Bride  Roses 


is  n't  so  simple !  That  makes  it  all  the 
worse.  It  would  be  a  kind  of  sacrilege ! 
I  have  no  right  —  or,  wait !  I  will  just 
glance  at  the  first  word.  It  may  be  a 
clew.  And  I  want  you  to  bear  me  wit 
ness,  Mr.  Eichenlaub,  that  I  did  n't  read 
a  word  more."  She  catches  up  a  piece 
of  paper,  and  covers  all  the  card  except 
the  first  two  words.  "  Yes  I  It  is  she  ! 
Oh,  how  perfectly  delightful!  It's 
charming,  charming!  It's  one  of  the 
prettiest  things  that  ever  happened! 
And  I  shall  be  the  means  —  no,  not  the 
means,  quite,  but  the  accident  —  of 
bringing  them  together  I  Put  the  card 
into  the  box,  Mr.  Eichenlaub,  and  don't 
let  me  see  it  an  instant  longer,  or  I  shall 
read  every  word  of  it,  in  spite  of  my 
self  !  "  She  gives  him  the  card,  and 
[28] 


Bride  Roses 


turns,  swiftly,  and  makes  some  paces 
toward  the  door. 

The  Florist,  calling  after  her  :  "  But 
the  attress,  matam.  You  forgot." 

The  Lady,  returning :  "  Oh,  yes ! 
Give  me  your  pencil."  She  writes  on 
a  piece  of  the  white  wrapping-paper. 
"  There  !  That  is  it."  She  stands  ir 
resolute,  with  the  pencil  at  her  lip. 
"  There  was  something  else  that  I  seem 
to  have  forgotten." 

The  Florist :  "  Your  flowers  ?  " 

The  Lady :  "  Oh,  yes,  my  flowers. 
I  nearly  went  away  without  deciding. 
Let  me  see.  Where  are  those  white 
roses  with  the  pink  tinge  on  the  edge 
of  the  petals  ?  "  The  florist  pushes  the 
box  towards  her,  and  she  looks  down  at 
the  roses.  "  No,  they  won't  do.  They 
[29] 


Bride  Roses 


look  somehow  —  cruel !  I  don't  wonder 
he  would  n't  have  them.  They  are 
totally  out  of  character.  I  will  take 
those  white  Bride  roses,  too.  It  seems 
a  fatality,  but  there  really  isn't  any 
thing  else,  and  I  can  laugh  with  her 
about  them,  if  it  all  turns  out  well." 
She  talks  to  herself  rather  than  the 
florist,  who  stands  patient  behind  the 
counter,  and  repeats,  dreamily, "  Laugh 
with  her !  " 

The  Florist :  "  How  many  shall  I 
sendt  you,  matam  ?  " 

The  Lady  :  "  Oh,  loads.  As  many 
as  you  think  I  ought  to  have.  I  shall 
not  have  any  other  flowers,  and  I  mean 
to  toss  them  on  the  table  in  loose  heaps. 
Perhaps  I  shall  have  some  smilax  to  go 
with  them." 

[30] 


Bride  Roses 


The  Florist :  "  Yes  ;  or  cypress 
wine." 

The  Lady :  "  No ;  that  is  too  crapy 
and  creepy.  Smilax,  or  nothing ;  and 
yet  I  don't  like  that  hard,  shiny,  var- 
nishy  look  of  smilax  either.  You 
wouldn't  possibly  have  anything  like 
that  wild  vine,  it 's  scarcely  more  than 
a  golden  thread,  that  trails  over  the 
wayside  bushes  in  New  England  ?  Dod 
der,  they  call  it." 

The  Florist :  "  I  nefer  heardt  off  it." 

The  Lady:  "No,  but  that  would 
have  been  just  the  thing.  It  suggests 
the  color  of  her  hair ;  it  would  go  with 
her.  Well,  I  will  have  the  smilax  too, 
though  I  don't  like  it.  I  don't  see  why 
all  the  flowers  should  take  to  being  so 
inexpressive.  Send  all  the  smilax  you 
[31] 


Bride  Roses 


judge  best.  It 's  quite  a  long  table,  nine 
or  ten  feet,  and  I  want  the  vine  going 
pretty  much  all  about  it." 

The  Florist:  "Perhaps  I  better 
sendt  somebody  to  see  ?  " 

The  Lady  :  "  Yes,  that  would  be  the 
best.  Good-morning." 

The  Florist :  "  Goodt  -  morning, 
matam.  I  will  sendt  rhoundt  this 
afternoon." 

The  Lady :  "  Very  well."  She  is  at 
the  door,  and  she  is  about  to  open  it, 
when  it  is  opened  from  the  outside,  and 
another  lady,  deeply  veiled,  presses  hur 
riedly  in,  and  passes  down  the  shop  to 
the  counter,  where  the  florist  stands 
sorting  the  long-stemmed  Bride  roses  in 
the  box  before  him.  The  first  lady  does 
[32] 


Bride  Roses 


not  go  out ;  she  lingers  at  the  door,  look 
ing  after  the  lady  who  has  just  coine 
in;  then,  with  a  little  hesitation,  she 
slowly  returns,  as  if  she  had  forgotten 
something,  and  waits  by  the  stove  until 
the  florist  shall  have  attended  to  the 
new-comer. 

The  Second  Lady,  throwing  back  her 
veil,  and  bending  over  to  look  at  the  box 
of  roses :  "  What  beautiful  roses !  What 
do  you  call  these  ?  " 

Tlie  Florist :  "  That  is  a  new  rhoce : 
the  Pridte.  It  is  jost  oudt.  It  is  coing 
to  be  a  very  bopular  rhoce." 

TJie  Second  Lady  :  "How  very  white 
it  is!  It  seems  not  to  have  the  least 
touch  of  color  in  it !  Like  snow !  No ; 
it  is  too  cold!" 

[33] 


Bride  Roses 


The  Florist :  "  It  iss  gold-looging." 

The  Second  Lady  :  "  What  do  they 
use  this  rose  for  ?  For  —  for  "  — 

The  Florist:  "For  everything! 
Weddtings,  theatre  barties,  afternoon 
dteas,  dtinners,  funerals  "  — 

The  Second  Lady:  "Ah,  that  is 
shocking!  I  can't  have  it,  then.  I 
want  to  send  some  flowers  to  a  friend 
who  has  lost  her  only  child  —  a  young 
girl  —  and  I  wish  it  to  be  something  ex 
pressive  —  characteristic  —  something 
that  won't  wound  them  with  other  asso 
ciations.  Have  you  nothing  —  nothing 
of  that  kind?  I  want  something  that 
shall  be  significant;  something  that 
shall  be  like  a  young  girl,  and  yet  — 
Haven't  you  some  very  tall,  slender, 
delicate  flowers?  Not  this  deathly 
[34] 


Bride  Roses 


white,  but  with  a  little  color  in  it? 
Is  n't  there  some  kind  of  lily  ?  " 

The  Florist:  "  Easder  lilies ?  Lily- 
off-the-valley  ?  Chonquils  ?  Azaleas  ? 
Hyacinths  ?  Marcuerites  ?  " 

TJie  Second  Lady :  "  No,  no ;  they 
won't  do,  any  of  them !  Have  n't  you 
any  other  kind  of  roses,  that  won't  be 
so  terribly  —  terribly" —  She  looks 
round  over  the  shelves  and  the  windows 
banked  with  flowers. 

The  Florist:  "Yes,  we  haf  dtea- 
rhoces,  all  kindts ;  Marshal  Niel ;  Ma- 
tame  Watterville  and  Matame  Cousine 
—  these  pink  ones ;  they  are  sister 
rhoces  ;  Matame  Hoste,  this  plack  one  ; 
the  Midio,  here  ;  Chacks  "  — 

The  Second  Lady :  "  No,  no !  They 
won't  any  of  them  do.  There  ought  to 
[35] 


Bride  Roses 


be  a  flower  invented  that  would  say  some 
thing—pity,  sympathy— that  wouldn't 
hurt  more  than  it  helped.  Is  n't  there 
anything  ?  Some  flowering  vine  ?  " 

The  Florist :  "  Here  is  the  chasmin. 
That  is  a  very  peautiful  wine,  with  that 
sd  tar-shaped  flower ;  and  the  berf  ume" — 

The  Second  Lady,  looking  at  a  length 
of  the  jasmine  vine  which  he  trails  on 
the  counter  before  her:  "Yes,  that  is 
very  beautiful;  and  it  is  girlish,  and 
like  —  But  no,  it  would  n't  do  !  That 
perfume  is  heartbreaking !  Don't  send 
that ! " 

The  Florist,  patiently  :  "  Cypress 
wine?  Smilax?" 

The  Second  Lady,  shaking  her  head 
vaguely  :  "  Some  other  flowering  vine." 

The  Florist :    "  Well,  we  have  cot 
[36] 


Bride  Roses 


noding  in,  at  present.  I  coult  get  you 
some  of  that  other  chasmin  —  kindt 
of  push,  that  gifs  its  berfume  after 
dtark"- 

The  Second  Lady :  "At  night?  Yes, 
I  know.  That  might  do.  But  those 
pale  green  flowers,  that  are  not  like 
flowers  —  no,  they  would  n't  do  !  I 
shall  have  to  come  back  to  your  Pride 
roses  !  Why  do  they  call  it  Pride  ?  " 

The  Florist  :  "  It  is  Pridte,  not 
Bridte,  matam." 

The  Second  Lady,  with  mystifica 
tion  :  "  Oh  !  Well,  let  me  have  a  great 
many  of  them.  Have  you  plenty  ?  " 

TJie  Florist :  "  As  many  as  you  lige." 

The  Second  Lady :  "  Well,  I  don't 
want  any  of  these  hard  little  buds.  I 
want  very  long  stems,  and  slender,  with 
[37] 


Bride  Roses 


the  flowers  fully  open,  and  fragile-look 
ing  —  something  like  her."  The  first 
lady  starts.  "  Yes  :  like  this  —  and 
this  —  and  this.  Be  sure  you  get  them 
all  like  these.  And  send  them  —  I  will 
give  you  the  address."  She  writes  on 
a  piece  of  the  paper  before  her.  "  There, 
that  is  it.  Here  is  my  card.  I  want  it 
to  go  with  them."  She  turns  from  the 
florist  with  a  sigh,  and  presses  her  hand 
kerchief  to  her  eyes. 

The  Florist :  "  You  want  them  to  go 
rhighdt  away  ?  "  He  takes  up  the  card, 
and  looks  at  it  absently,  and  then  puts 
it  down,  and  examines  the  roses  one 
after  another.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
I  cot  enough  of  these  oben  ones  on 
handt,  already  "  — 

The  /Second  Lady :  "  Oh,  you  must  n't 
[38] 


Bride  Roses 


send  them  to-day  !  I  forgot.  It  is  n't 
to  be  till  to-morrow.  You  must  send 
them  in  the  morning.  But  I  am  going 
out  of  town  to-day,  and  so  I  came  in  to 
order  them  now.  Be  very  careful  not 
to  send  them  to-day  !  " 

The  Florist:  "All  rhighdt.  I  loog 
oudt." 

The  Second  Lady :  "  I  am  so  glad 
you  happened  to  ask  me.  It  has  all 
been  so  dreadfully  sudden,  and  I  am 
quite  bewildered.  Let  me  think  if  there 
is  anything  more  !  "  As  she  stands  with 
her  finger  to  her  lip,  the  first  lady  makes 
a  movement  as  if  about  to  speak,  but 
does  not  say  anything.  "  No,  there  is 
nothing  more,  I  believe." 

The  Florist,  to  the  First  Lady :  "  Was 
there  somet'ing  ?  " 

[39] 


Bride  Roses 


The  First  Lady :  "  No.  There  is  no 
hurry." 

The  Second  Lady,  turning  towards 
her :  "  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !  I  have 
been  keeping  you  "  — 

The  First  Lady :  "  Not  at  all.  I 
merely  returned  to  —  But  it  is  n't  of 
the  least  consequence.  Don't  let  me 
hurry  you ! " 

The  Second  Lady :  "  Oh,  I  have 
quite  finished,  I  believe.  But  I  can 
hardly  realize  anything,  and  I  was  afraid 
of  going  away  and  forgetting  something, 
for  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  station.  My 
husband  is  very  ill,  and  I  am  going 
South  with  him ;  and  this  has  been  so 
sudden,  so  terribly  unexpected.  The 
only  daughter  of  a  friend  "  — 

The  First  Lady  :  "  The  only  "  — 
[40] 


Bride  Roses 


Tlie  Second  Lady :  "  Yes,  it  is  too 
much  !  But  perhaps  you  have  come  — 
I  ought  to  have  thought  of  it ;  you  may 
have  come  ou  the  same  kind  of  sad  er 
rand  yourself;  you  will  know  how  to 
excuse  " 

The  First  Lady,  with  a  certain  re 
sentment  :  "  Not  at  all !  I  was  just 
ordering  some  flowers  for  a  reception." 

The  Second  Lady  :  "  Oh  !  Then  I 
beg  your  pardon!  But  there  seems 
nothing  else  in  the  world  but  —  death. 

O 

I  am  very  sorry.     I  beg  your  pardon  ! ' 
She  hastens  out  of  the  shop,  and  the 
first  lady  remains,  looking  a  moment  at 
the  door  after  she  has  vanished.     Then 
she  goes  slowly  to  the  counter. 

The  Lady,  severely  :   "  Mr.  Eichen- 
laub,  I  have  changed  my  mind  about 
[41] 


Bride  Roses 


the  roses  and  the  smilax.  I  will  not 
have  either.  I  want  you  to  send  me  all 
of  that  jasmine  vine  that  you  can  get. 
I  will  have  my  whole  decorations  of 
that.  I  wonder  I  did  n't  think  of  that 
before.  Mr.  Eichenlaub  !  "  She  hesi 
tates.  «  Who  was  that  lady  ?  " 

The  Florist,  looking  about  among 
the  loose  papers  before  him  :  "  Why,  I 
dton't  know.  I  cot  her  cart  here,  some 
where." 

The  Lady,  very  nervously  :  "  Never 
mind  about  the  card  !  I  don't  wish  to 
know  who  she  wns.  I  have  no  right  to 
ask.  No !  I  won't  look  at  it."  She 
refuses  the  card,  which  he  has  found, 
and  which  he  offers  to  her.  "  I  don't 
care  for  her  name,  but  —  Where  was 
she  sending  the  flowers  ?  " 
[42] 


Bride  Roses 


Tlie  Florist,  tossing  about  the  sheets 
of  paper  on  the  counter  :  "  She  dtid  n't 
say,  but  she  wrhote  it  down  here,  some 
where  "  — 

The  Lady,  shrinking  back :  "  No, 
no  !  I  don't  want  to  see  it !  But  what 
right  had  she  to  ask  me  such  a  thing  as 
that  ?  It  was  very  bad  taste  ;  very  ob 
tuse,  —  whoever  she  was.  Have  you  — 
ah  — found  it?" 

The  Florist^  offering  her  a  paper 
across  the  counter :  "  Yes ;  here  it 

188." 

The  Lady,  catching  it  from  him,  and 
then,  after  a  glance  at  it,  starting  back 
with  a  shriek  :  "  Ah-h-h  !  How  ter 
rible  !  But  it  can't  be !  O.h,  I  don't 
know  what  to  think  —  It  is  the  most 
dreadful  thing  that  ever  —  It 's  im- 
[43] 


Bride  Roses 


possible !  "  She  glances  at  the  paper 
again,  and  breaks  into  a  hysterical  laugh : 
"  Ah,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  Why,  this  is  the 
address  that  I  wrote  out  for  that  young 
gentleman's  flowers !  You  have  made  a 
terrible  mistake,  Mr.  Eichenlaub  —  you 
have  almost  killed  me.  I  thought  —  I 
thought  that  woman  was  sending  her 
funeral  flowers  to  —  to  "  —  She  holds 
her  hand  over  her  heart,  and  sinks  into 
the  chair  beside  the  counter,  where  she 
lets  fall  the  paper.  "  You  have  almost 
killed  me." 

The  Florist :  "  I  am  very  sorry.  I 
dtidn't  subbose —  But  the  oder  at- 
tress  must  be  here.  I  will  fint  it "  — 
He  begins  tossing  the  papers  about 
again. 

The  Lady,  springing  to  her  feet : 
[44] 


Bride  Roses 


"  No,  no  !  I  would  n't  look  at  it  now 
for  the  world !  I  have  had  one  escape. 
Send  me  all  jasmine,  remember." 

The  Florist:  "  Yes,  all  chasmin." 
The  lady  goes  slowly  and  absently  to 
ward  the  door,  where  she  stops,  and  then 
she  turns  and  goes  back  slowly,  and  as 
if  forcing  herself. 

The  Lady:  "Mr.  Eichenlaub." 

The  Florist :  "  Yes,  matam." 

The  Lady  :  "  Have  you  —  plenty  — 
of  those  white  —  Bride  roses  ?  " 

The  Florist :  "  I  get  all  you  want  of 
them." 

The  Lady :  "  Open,  fragile-looking 
ones,  with  long,  slender  stems  ?  " 

The  Florist :  "  I  get  you  any  kindt 
you  lige ! " 

The  Lady :  "  Send  me  Bride  roses, 
[45] 


Bride  Roses 


then.  I  don't  care !  I  will  not  be 
frightened  out  of  them  !  It  is  too  fool 
ish." 

The  Florist :  "  All  rhighdt.  How 
many  you  think  you  want  ?  " 

The  Lady:  "Send  all  you  like! 
Masses  of  them !  Heaps !  " 

The  Florist:  "All  rhighdt.  And 
the  chasmin  ?  " 

The  Lady  :  "  No ;  I  don't  want  it 
now." 

The  Florist :  "  You  want  the  smilax 
with  them,  then,  I  subbose  ?  " 

The  Lady :  •'  No,  I  don't  want  any 
smilax  with  them,  either.  Nothing  but 
those  white  Bride  roses !  "  She  turns 
and  goes  to  the  door;  she  calls  back, 
"  Nothing  but  the  roses,  remember  !  " 

The  Florist :  "  AU  rhighdt.     I  don't 
[46] 


Bride  Roses 


forget.  No  chasmin ;  no  smilax ;  no 
kimlt  of  wine.  Only  Pridte  rhoces." 
The  Lady  :  "  Only  roses." 
The  Florist,  alone,  thoughtfully  turn 
ing  over  the  papers  on  his  counter : 
"That  is  sdrainche  that  I  mage  that 
mistake  about  the  attress !  I  can't  find 
the  oder  one  anwhere ;  and  if  I  lost  it, 
what  am  I  coing  to  do  with  the  rhoces 
the  other  lady  ortert  ?  "  He  steps  back 
and  looks  at  his  feet,  and  then  stoops 
and  picks  up  a  paper,  which  he  exam 
ines.  "  Ach  !  here  it  iss  !  Zlipped 
down  behindt.  Now  I  don't  want 
to  get  it  mixed  with  that  oder  any 
more."  He  puts  it  down  at  the  left, 
and  takes  up  the  address  for  the  young 
man's  roses  on  the  right ;  he  stares  at 
the  two  addresses  in  a  stupefaction. 
[47] 


Bride  Roses 


"  That  is  very  sdrainche  too.  Well !  " 
He  drops  the  papers  with  a  shrug,  and 
goes  on  arranging  the  flowers. 


[48] 


PRINTED  BY  H.  O.  HOUGHTON  &  CO. 
CAMBRIDGE,  MASS. 


Plays  and  Poems 

BY    WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 
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